Chapter Twenty-Six
“F urthermost limits.”
“How many?” Mathias asked.
“Four across.”
Not parameters, then, or boundaries.
“Ends,” Mathias said, taking a sip from his mug of coffee. Rayan sat beside him on the sofa, filling out the boxes of the crossword in his careful hand. Mathias noticed the date at the top of the newspaper. “That’s yesterday’s paper.”
“René hasn’t been yet.”
“One job. That kid has one fucking job,” Mathias muttered.
The next time he saw René, he figured, a touch of friendly intimidation might do the trick. If they ever saw him again. There was no logic to René’s so-called service.
“How do you feel?” Rayan asked.
Mathias’s head was still fuzzy, and his whole body ached. He’d inspected his face in the mirror that morning and concluded that nothing was broken. But he did look like he’d run headfirst into a pole.
“Fine, considering.” Mathias raised his fingers to the small purplish bruise on the side of his neck and recalled the sting of the needle going in. “Not a trip I’m in any hurry to repeat.”
Rayan observed him quietly. They hadn’t touched on his familiarity with the subject. “You were surprisingly mellow. I used to tail my brother around the city to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. Not that I was any good at stopping him.”
“You were pretty good at stopping me.”
More had come back to Mathias about the events of the previous day. The scenes felt like dreams, crudely sketched, but Mathias knew—with a spike of humiliation—that he’d given Rayan permission to do as he pleased. He’d placed his pride in the man’s hands, and Rayan had gently handed it back.
Rayan gave him a guarded smile. “I figured you might feel differently once you’d sobered up.”
“How chivalrous.”
Despite the flippancy of their exchange, an unspoken shift hung between them. He saw it in Rayan’s eyes. Mathias had opened a door that hadn’t been open before. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to close it.
“Heylen asked me to run his new business,” Mathias said, deftly changing the subject. “As a partner.”
Rayan lowered the newspaper. “When?”
“A couple weeks back.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“Look, you don’t get to know everything.”
“Even if it’s something that might get you killed?” Rayan asked.
“Please, Heylen’s as tame as they come. And if you’re referring to that business with Marsela, I was never in any real danger.”
“Bullshit. If that was true, you wouldn’t have sent Elise to get me.”
“It was merely a precaution,” Mathias lied.
Rayan’s voice softened. “You don’t need to deal with everything on your own anymore, Mathias.”
It landed right where he intended, and Mathias prickled defensively. “I can handle myself.”
“I know you can. But talk to me.”
Mathias grunted. “Christ, you’re a broken record.”
“Have you spoken with Elise?”
“Briefly.” Mathias had contacted his appraiser the night before. She’d been beside herself. When her panic subsided, he would have to address what had happened.
“She’ll have questions.”
Mathias shrugged. “Then she can ask them.”
“Did she know about Heylen?”
“You’ve met her. She inhales all information in her direct vicinity.”
“So I should pry more?” Rayan asked.
“You pry plenty.”
“You don’t sound too thrilled about the idea of partnering with him.”
“When have I ever sounded thrilled?”
Rayan tossed the paper onto the coffee table and cocked his head. “I know how important it is for you to push yourself. Just look at what happened with the Albanians. You get bored enough, and you start making your own fun.”
“I wasn’t bored. I was proving a point.”
“You took it as a direct challenge.”
Mathias leaned back against the sofa cushions. He had to admit there was some truth to Rayan’s observation.
“It might be an interesting venture,” Rayan offered. “Worthy of your talents.”
Mathias recalled the figure Heylen had scrawled on the back of the sheet of paper and the man’s promises of market domination.
Something about it scratched an itch—the same itch he’d felt when Enzo had offered him Montreal on a silver platter.
Power, respect. A part of him that small-town living hadn’t managed to satisfy.
Perhaps his hesitation stemmed from not wanting to upend the life they’d so carefully constructed together.
Especially for Rayan, who’d known enough turmoil.
Yet here the man was, giving Mathias his blessing.
The night before, Mathias had heard the tremor in Rayan’s voice as he made his plea.
Rayan had always been judicious when it came to his feelings about Mathias and the family.
He’d never before attempted to force Mathias’s hand.
What Rayan didn’t know was that the decision had already been made. Rayan had made it for him.
Mathias’s gaze fell on the book he’d given Rayan, perched on the edge of the coffee table. It wasn’t the only one either. There were more stacked on the floor by the sofa and another two on the end table.
Rayan was watching him. “It bothers you.”
“The books?”
Rayan nodded.
“You don’t think I’m used to it by now?”
“Used to it doesn’t mean you like it.”
“I like it, then.” Mathias leaned over to pluck the red hardback from the table. “How many times have you read this one?”
“I’ve lost count.”
Mathias flipped the novel open, and it landed on a page with a slip of paper lodged against the spine. He knew Rayan kept markers in his books of his favorite passages and often returned to reread them. “What’s it about?”
Rayan seemed to consider the question. “A man who doesn’t belong. Camus likes to play with the idea of societal rejection as a form of rebellion.”
There was a thud at the front door, and Mathias snapped the book closed. He pulled himself up with a grumble.
“Go easy on him,” Rayan cautioned.
Mathias yanked open the front door to find the rolled-up newspaper lying on the top step and René nowhere to be found. That fucking kid.
He bent to retrieve it, and as he straightened, a taxi pulled up outside the house.
The back door opened, and a woman stepped out.
She wore sunglasses and a camel coat over her billowing paisley dress.
Mathias’s stomach seized. Unthinking, he strode down the steps toward her, unsure whether the quickening of his pulse was from anger or fear.
“What are you doing here?”
His mother removed her sunglasses and blinked at him uncomprehendingly. “Mathias? What happened to your face?” She glanced around at the open front door and the car parked outside. “I came to see the old family house. What are… Do you live here?”
He hadn’t mentioned Calais on any of his visits, and she’d never asked where he was living.
She probably assumed he had an apartment somewhere in Paris.
By the vitriolic way she’d talked about her father, Mathias hadn’t pegged her for the type to make a nostalgic pilgrimage to her former childhood home.
His mother’s face furrowed in confusion. “How…? They told me it was sold after he died.”
“It was. I bought it.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Why? Because both you and my father seemed intent on severing any claim to my heritage?”
At that moment, Rayan appeared on the front step, and Mathias watched the slow-motion collision of two separate worlds, two entirely different parts of himself. His mother’s eyes widened even further, and the three of them remained unmoving, part of some absurd tableau.
“This is Rayan,” Mathias said flatly. “I believe the two of you are acquainted.”
His mother nodded. Rayan raised his hand in greeting and threw Mathias a tense glance before mumbling something about coffee and disappearing into the house.
Mathias stared her down, trying to read her expression. Was it disappointment? No, that would assume she’d ever actually given a shit.
But none of that mattered now. He’d found what he needed. Or more accurately, it had found him—the thing he’d tried, despite his best efforts, to convince himself he’d never wanted. And she was left with their hopeless double act—she, the unwilling mother, and he, the accidental son.
Mathias let out a resigned sigh. “Well, you’re here. Might as well come in.” He turned back to the house, but his mother’s hand on his arm stopped him.
“Mathias…” she whispered.
He met her blue eyes, clouded and shiny, and Mathias felt a sharp stab in his chest. It wasn’t disappointment he saw.
Instead, she looked at him like it was the first time she’d seen him.
As though, after a life spent lurking in her periphery, he’d finally come into view.
The stab turned into an ache, tight and pulsing, yet Mathias couldn’t bring himself to pull away.
He hadn’t realized how painful it would feel to know just how much he’d missed.